


Hedging Bets

by Hallianna



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, New Relationship, Strip Poker, shega
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never make a bet if you don't like the possible outcomes - that was the lesson James Vega should have remembered before he accidentally spied on his commander.  And then drank too much whiskey and realized a little too late just how bad of a poker player he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hedging Bets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



He knew he shouldn’t be doing this.  It wasn’t just the fact that he was invading her privacy, or that if she found him - hidden in the shadows behind a stack of crates at the far end of the cargo bay - she’d kill him.  

It was the idea that he was getting _so turned on_ watching her punch and kick, sweat dripping off her face, hair plastered to her forehead.   _Right.  Left.  Right.  Right.  Jump back to counter any attack.  A soldier’s instinct.  A fighter’s stance._

He wiped his clammy palms on the front of his cargo pants and tried to focus, eyes darting around the cavernous room as he looked for a way out.  Damn Esteban and his fucking errand.  Why couldn’t he have come down here to pick up Scars’s rifle mod?  Or better yet, tell the turian to take care of it himself?  At least neither of them would have needed to hide behind a pile of stupid ass crates.  He felt like such a _pendejo_ , sneaking around like this.  He could have just grabbed the mod and walked by Shepard when she came in, saluted her, and walked on but the look on her face when she stomped into the room…

_¡Dios mío!_

She looked like she wanted to take down the world.  He’d been with her on Tuchanka, seen her stony face as the Shroud blew and the cure was dispersed.  The shuttle ride back had been deathly silent, just Garrus checking over his rifle again and again and him staring at his boots.  Shepard was sitting beside him and he couldn’t take the silence any more.  Before Garrus could warn him, _keep quiet, she won’t want to talk about it_ , he looked at Shepard and asked if she was all right.

All he received was stare as cold as Noveria and twice as deadly.  He was ready to turn away, take his public shaming and keep his mouth shut, when he heard her say softly, “Rage is a hell of an anesthetic, Vega.”  Garrus choked at that and when he’d turned questioning eyes to her, Shepard had just shrugged and given him a thin lipped smile.

He knew that Mordin’s death had hit her hard.  Doc had told him that the salarian had been a part of Shepard’s team back on the old version of the SR-2, when she was yanking those Cerberus bastards around.  And the times he’d interacted with the guy, he seemed decent, if not a little distracted.  Like he couldn’t keep focused on one thing at a time, but give the guy a microscope and some cells to look at and he was a motherfuckin’ _genius_.

Vega shook his head, almost chuckled, then put a hand down on the crate beside him and the feel of cold steel under his palm made him remember where he was.  His eyes locked on her form again, and the heat from earlier returned.  He should feel - what, shame?  Yeah, he should.  He didn’t break regs, wouldn’t dream of…. _madre de dios_ he was in trouble. He closed his eyes, tried to push the want away.

It didn’t work.

The harsh, jagged sound of a grunt, pain-filled and clearly frustrated, hit his ears and he cracked open his eyes.  He saw her hitting the bag harder now and he could tell by the way she was breathing that she was going to be winding down soon.  She had to be.  He’d been cramped behind these damn crates for nearly 45 minutes, thighs burning, mouth dry, eyes glued open at the sight in front of him.

 _Right.  Left.  Roundhouse._  

The bag shook with the force of her kick, the chain attaching it to the metal pole above his workstation quavering with an audible twang.  He winced, knowing he should have reinforced it yesterday when he noticed that it was loose.  He’d catch hell if it came down on her now.

Shepard brought her knee up again, balanced and aimed another kick at the bag.  

_Roundhouse.  Extreme force applied._

This time, the pole shook even harder and her narrowed eyes widened slightly as she looked up.  She backpedaled quickly, feet scraping across the cargo bay floor as she tried to get out of the way.  

The bag missed her by inches, its support beam clattering to the floor with a noise that made him grimace.  But he knew checking his instinct to rush to her aid had been the right one.  If he’d leapt out from his cover and tackled her to the ground, “for her safety”, he’d be catching so much more than hell right now for pinning his commanding officer - who was half dressed and flushed from exertion - to the floor.

Shepard shook her head as she stared at the bag, mumbling under her breath.  He only heard his name, the words, “fix his damn shit” and “have his ass”, and he tried not to blanch as she walked closer to the crates.  He dropped to the ground as quietly as possible, ducking out of sight as she snatched a towel off a neighboring stack of crates and spun to walk away, still muttering.  

He felt hot, like his skin was too tight, and his palms itched.  The memory of her body, moving so fluidly, all power and strength channeled through her fists and feet, would haunt him tonight.  They’d sparred and he’d seen her move on the field, but this was something completely different.  She’d been raw tonight, potent and powerful and bright with need and anguish.   

It was a long time after she was gone that he felt safe leaving the cargo bay, the rifle mod in his hands.  The elevator ride had him shifting nervously from foot to foot, anxious to return to his own little room so he could take the edge off the old fashioned way.  Him and his right hand and the memory of a sweat-drenched commander wringing as much pain as she could from an inanimate punching bag.

Vega found Cortez in the mess hall, sitting across from Garrus and Liara.

“Vega, where have you been?” the shuttle pilot asked after swallowing a mouthful of beer.  “Get lost down there without me?  Or were you flirting with that blonde engineer you’ve-”

Cortez was cut off when Vega dropped the mod on the table, making the beer bottle nearly topple over.  “Here’s your damn mod,” he growled at Garrus, who raised an eyebrow plate at him.  “Next time, get someone else to run your damn errands for you.”

He left the three tablemates in an assortment of confused looks and marched back to the elevator, hitting the door command with his fist.  The doors hissed open and he got inside the metal cabin.  Vega wiped a sweaty palm down his face and waited thirty torturous seconds to get back to his tiny quarters.  He thought he’d feel relieved when he was finally alone in his own room and staring at four familiar walls, his footlocker, and his bed.

No such fucking luck.

He perched on the edge of the bed, fists balled on his knees, and closed his eyes.  Debating.  Fighting with himself.  Struggling over his duty, his pride, and his own desires.

Vega went to bed twitchy and hot, like someone had cut him open, stuck a match under his skin, and sewn him back up, leaving him to burn.

_If rage is an anesthetic, Commander, then what the hell is lust?_

 

* * *

 

“Well, fuck.”

Kaidan snorted as he collected his chips.  “That bad, Vega?”

Vega threw back the last of his whiskey.  “That’s the third hand in a row I’ve had to throw away, so yeah, L2.  That bad.”

“Maybe you’re just a bad poker player,” Garrus shot at him from across the table.  “I just learned this game and I haven’t even tossed that many hands.”

Vega narrowed his eyes at the sniper.  “Yeah, well maybe you’ve got a few cards tucked away in that,” and he waved a hand in Garrus’s direction, “armor of yours somewhere.”

Garrus leaned back and crossed his arms, mandibles flared in a grin at the friendly challenge.  “You really think so.”

Vega had consumed just enough alcohol to meet the turian’s eyes - and his lightly mocking tone - full on.  “Yeah, I do.”

“Oh, have we moved onto the strip poker part of the night already?  I vote Garrus gets naked so we can check to see if he does have cards hidden somewhere.”

Vega’s eyes cut over to where Shepard had appeared beside Kaidan, a full tumbler of amber liquid in her hand as she lowered herself into her empty seat.  It put her right across from Vega.  That hadn’t been an issue for the first hour of their game.  He had also been sober then.

Now, the whiskey was churning in his stomach and warming his fingers and his brain.  Hearing the words “strip poker” coming from Shepard’s lips wasn’t helping things.  

But her comment wasn’t having the same effect on his tablemates.  Kaidan nearly spit out his drink as he chuckled and Garrus’s neck flushed blue as he glared at the commander.  “And what makes you think I’d do that, Shepard?”

She shrugged, smiling easily in the turian’s direction.  “Because I’ve never seen a turian naked outside of a Fornax and I’m curious.”

That just made Kaidan laugh harder and Vega watched with wide eyes as Shepard took a drink from her glass, then lean across the small table in Garrus’s direction.  The flush on his neck crept higher, but he held her gaze as her smile turned wicked.

The staring contest lasted a few heated seconds, each combatant weighing the other’s ability to stay in the fight, when Garrus finally broke away with a choked laugh.  “No offense, Shepard, but you’re full of shit.  I’ve never seen you take an interest in anyone, why would you start with a turian?”

She pursed her lips in thought for a moment, and then pressed herself back into her chair, glass in hand.  “Is that what you two think as well?”  When she saw the hesitation on their faces, she waved her free hand at them.  “Speak freely.  You know I don’t stand on that regulation bullshit.”

“Well, Shepard,” Kaidan said slowly, his words hanging in the air, “he does have a point.”

She tipped her glass in his direction.  “You’re just saying that because I wouldn’t sleep with you when you were just a lieutenant.”

It was Vega’s turn to swallow wrong.  The alcohol burned his throat and he coughed, making Shepard glance at him.  He waved her off, motioning to his glass and she nodded.  He thought Kaidan would sputter, get offended at her words, and walk off, but he gave a dark laugh and said, “Probably better you didn’t, Shepard.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but let the comment go.  Instead, she turned to Vega.  “Same question, _lieutenant_.”

Vega thought he was hearing things (alcohol did that sometimes), but he swore she put extra emphasis on his rank.  “Hey, yeah…. um, I don’t think I have an answer for you, Lola.  You want to get down with Scars, you go right ahead.  It’s none of my business.”  He winked at her, trying to break the tension and keep from squirming under her stare.  “But I thought you said something about strip poker.  What happened to that?”

The smile she aimed at him went straight to his groin.   _Shit_.  “So I did.”  She glanced around the table.  “Everyone in?”

“I think you’re just trying to get me naked, Shepard.”

She downed her glass and stood to pour another one, patting Garrus’s shoulder as she walked by.  “Maybe.  I guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”  She looked over her shoulder at Kaidan.  “What about you?”

That got him smiling.  “Oh, I’m sticking around, Shepard.  I might surprise you.”

Her eyes locked on Vega.  “James?”

He was torn, caught dead to rights in that deadly Venn Diagram where duty, honor, and need didn’t meet in the middle.  And he felt stupid for it.  The “Nah, Commander, I’m going to turn in” that should have slipped out of his mouth so easily transformed into a cocky smile and a “Yeah, Lola, but only if it’s an order.  I can’t be accused of breaking regs, wouldn’t be good for my reputation.”

The first response, the one he **should** have given her, would have probably earned him a curt nod and a free and clear path to the door.  

The second response, the one he actually gave, got him her full attention for the first time that night.  It was a frightening, exhilarating experience that left him slightly left of sane and fully landed on _holy fuck_.  "Oh, it's an order, James," she said quietly before turning her back to him and pouring more alcohol.

Shepard brought her full glass back to the table, set it down, and made the move to sit but quickly straightened.  “I think I’ve left you all a little confused as to whether I’m serious or not about this,” she said, eyes traveling over the three men sitting in front of her.  “The game, gentlemen, is strip poker.  The rules are simple.  Lose a hand, lose an article of clothing.  Folding doesn’t count as losing.  The winner is the last one with clothes left on.  And for every hand, everyone drinks.”  She gestured to the door.  “You have until I sit down to decide if you’re staying or not.  If your ass is still in your chair when mine is, then the game is on.”

Before Vega could register what she was doing, Shepard grabbed the hem of her shirt and ripped the thing over her head.  The tiny black tank top she wore underneath didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination.  “A show of good faith,” she replied to their stunned faces, “since I am your commanding officer.”

He felt his blood heat at all the skin she was showing off, but it was less than what he’d seen two nights ago when she’d been pummeling his bag in just cargo pants and a sports bra.  He mentally checked himself, forced his eyes down to his now empty glass.

“You’re going to need a refill if you’re playing, Vega.”

His eyes slid, against his wishes, over to her.  She was leaning back in her chair again, shuffling the cards like it was second nature.  The hard, colored faces of the kings and queens flipping and turning in her skilled hands drew his attention for a brief moment before her whiskey-warmed voice brought him back to reality.  “Better get that drink, James, before I deal.  When the cards are down, we’re playing and I’d hate to see you left out.”

He _knew_ she was toying with him, probably payback for all the times he flirted with her and didn’t deliver but goddamn it…. “I’m going, Lola, I’m going,” he said, the teasing tone she was used to back in his voice.  She flashed him a quick look, curious at his sudden switch, and he grinned before grabbing his glass and standing.

When he was settled back at the table, Shepard dealt the cards in rapid-fire fashion, then threw back half her drink.  “Ready, boys?”

Vega followed suit, figuring a healthy mouthful of whiskey right now wouldn’t hurt his chances.  His cards were damn good.  He smiled over at Shepard.  “Oh yeah, Lola, I’m ready.”  And for the hell of it, downed the rest of his glass.

That drink, and the next few that followed, were how James Vega wound up running bare-assed to his room, clutching his clothes in front of him to protect what little pride he had left.  

But when he got there, the room denied him entrance.  The string of curses he let out could have woken his dead _abuela_ , just so she could shake her finger at him for using such language.

Saying his apologies to her, Vega slammed on the door, cursed again, and started to turn around, hoping no one else was in the hallway to see the spectacle.  

"Problem with your door, James?"

 _Shit_.

Vega swallowed hard.  He didn’t want to turn around and see the smirk he knew was on her face.  But he could feel her gaze hot on him.  And he definitely felt the air move against his bare ass as she walked toward, then by him until she was in his line of sight.

Shepard leaned against his door, close enough to touch and definitely close enough that he could smell the whiskey on her breath.  But she didn’t look drunk, certainly hadn’t acted it during the game.

But drunk was the only explanation he had for the fact that she had him trapped outside his own damn door, _naked_ , and wasn’t letting him inside.

“Gonna let a guy have a little pride, Lola?” he finally managed to spit out while gripping his clothes tighter to the front of his body.

“What for?” she asked, her eyes traveling over his shoulders and arms.  “I won fair and square.  You accusing me of cheating, Vega?”

He shook his head so fast dots spun in front of his eyes.  “Nuh uh.”

That made her grin.  “I guess I should just let you in your door.”  Her omnitool lit up and a second later, his door light turned green.

Relief made his knees almost lock up.  Vega slammed the door command and nearly fell backwards inside, trying to keep from flashing his commander the whole package.  

Shepard laughed lightly at the spectacle he made.  She put two fingers to her forehead in a mock salute.  “Good night, Lieutenant.”

“Ma’am.”

The moment the door closed, Vega closed his eyes and let his clothes fall to the floor.  “Holy _fuck_.  How did I get myself into that fucking goddamn mess?”  He turned and walked over to his dresser to pull out fresh clothes.  “ _Madre de dios_ , no more whiskey. **Ever**.”

Vega’s hands had just finished pulling up the zipper on his pants when his doors hissed open.  The skin between his shoulder blades prickled and he turned quickly, knowing exactly who he was going to see standing on his steps.

“I never could resist a man out of uniform, Vega.”  Shepard eyed his still-shirtless form.  “Especially one with an ass like yours.”

She stalked toward him, scaring the shit out of him while she backed him up against the wall.  But she didn’t touch him, just put a hand against the wall near his head.  “Tell me no, and I’ll leave.”  She turned knowing green eyes on his face, a smirk turning her lips up.  “But since I know you were hiding behind a stack of crates two nights ago, watching me beat the shit out of your punching bag because you were too afraid to simply walk out -”

“Not afraid, Lola,” came his husky reply as he reached up to trace a finger down her cheek, “just ridiculously turned on.”  He grinned at her raised eyebrow.  “And yeah, okay, a little afraid.  But you gotta admit, _you’re_ a little scary.”

She leaned in closer, her lips ghosting over his ear.  “You like it.”

He closed his eyes, shivering when he felt her breath pass over his jaw. “Yeah, I do.”

She chuckled and the sound went straight south, making him nearly buckle against the wall.  “That so, James?”  

“Yeah.”

Vega liked the appreciative sound she made in the back of her throat as he traced a hand down her side.  If they were going to do this, then they were going to do this right.  “Well, I’ll be damned,” she whispered as he closed the distance between them, backing her to his bed.  “James Vega is a romantic.”

Her knees hit the bed and she let him take her down, let him draw her close.  “Is that such a bad thing, Commander?”

She touched a fingertip to his lips.  “I think I can deal with it.  But do me a favor...no titles tonight.”

He tipped her head up with a finger under her chin and smiled.  “Shepard.”

She smiled back.  “James.”  She leaned in until her lips were almost touching his before she added, “You really do need to learn to hedge your bets, James. Especially if you don’t want to suffer the consequences.”

James’s ears burned with a blush but his voice dropped into a husky whisper as he answered her back.  “Who said I didn’t know exactly what I was doing?” He kissed along her jaw until his lips were ghosting over the shell of her ear. “Maybe I intended to lose all along, get you right where I wanted you."  He pulled her flush against him and grinned at the little gasp she let out.  " _Nunca hagas una apuesta si no te gustan los resultados posibles_. My _tio_ taught me that a long, long time ago.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gift fic for SpectreAntiHero, who wanted a Shega fic and who wasn't picky about the prompt; Spectre was also my awesome beta for this piece and handed me the fantastic ending on a silver platter.


End file.
